” “Sure thing, kid. So far as I'm concerned, nothing could please me more. “I might go home, I don’t know. She alone of them all knew that he was on the first leg of the terrible journey to the beach. Eight per cent. Yet her aunt, with a ringed hand flitting to her lips and a puzzled, worried look in her eyes, deaf to all this riot of warmth and flitting desire, was playing Patience—playing Patience, as if Dionysius and her curate had died together.
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